


Destination: JUNON HARBOR

by Theheroshield



Series: Final Fantasy VII: One-Winged Angel [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Action/Adventure, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:15:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theheroshield/pseuds/Theheroshield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The few for the many? Or the many for the few? When a ship is hijacked Sephiroth is faced with the dilemma of choosing who to save and who to sacrifice. But will it even matter in the end?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Miranda

Sunlight showered the cruise ship, _Miranda_ , as she cleanly cut through the waves. It rippled down the hard-working smokestack as it emitted the faint smell of burnt mako. About thirty Shin-ra employees of varying ages and attire roamed the upper echelons of the deck. Some played Materia Ball while others enjoyed a live performance by a local Costa Del Sol band. Voices blurred as one in a single chorus…of laughter, of merriment, of sheer, unadulterated, enjoyment.

If the engines suddenly died and the captain announced the indefinite postponement to reaching shore, the voices would rise to a cacophony of gleeful agreement—except his.

Sephiroth's.

The High Commander lay on a raised pallet, unmoving, book balanced in one hand. He sipped a cocktail without lifting his mako-green eyes from the text. Laughter drilled into his ears and threatened to tear his patience asunder, but Sephiroth studiously ignored it, long accustomed to the nuisance that is human behaviour.

Ignored, that is, until a shadow fell on the pages.

"What 'ca reading?"

With a sigh, Sephiroth glanced up. Her lovely golden hair framed by the sun, Kathleen tilted her head, her smile disconcerting the normally unaffected general. Believing her beauty to be inescapable, the lieutenant found Sephiroth to be immune to even the most tantalizing of her charms. Before he could formulate some excuse for her immediate dismissal, she snatched the book from his hands.

"The North Corel Disaster…" she murmured. Her coffee-brown eyes climbed over the pages. "What's it about?"

That question had the High Commander's silvery eyebrows rising exponentially. "It's about the…North Corel…Disaster…" He exhaled through his mouth. "A Mako reactor blew up years ago near the mining town. It's been a source of tension in the region ever since."

She rolled her eyes. "Bah! Dull." With a flick of her wrist and the book crashed onto the deck, pages all distorted. Without concern for the shadow of annoyance creeping across the general's face, Kathleen grabbed the first book on a pile on his table. "War against Wutai: Is it Coming?" The book fell in the exact same place Sephiroth had just removed The North Corel Disaster from. "How dull. Why are you reading such drivel?"

The sight of such disorganization grated at the general's nerves and he set to task compiling the primers alphabetically. Where he'd picked up that habit, Sephiroth had little clue. As he worked, Sephiroth spoke, his voice never deviating from its cold, military tone. "I have learned that Lord Godo is gathering a resistance in the lower Da-Chao provinces. I am preparing for a possible uprising in that area. Knowledge is key to winning almost any conflict."

Kathy's eyes glazed at the mention of war, as the general suspected they would. Human nature was entirely too predictable. "How dull. Why don't you join Terry, Mike, Lanine and I for a game of Materia Ball? We'll let you serve…" Her long-nailed finger poked at Sephiroth's bare fine-toned chest. A smile that would disarm even the staunchest of men…

…did not affect him. Frowning, the general evaded her touch. He hated that sensation. So invading, so intimate; not all the appropriate behaviour for his subordinate. Sephiroth's eyes narrowed, warning her to back off. She did. "Maybe some other time," he drawled, tossing his sterling-colored hair back and shades on.

She pouted, hands on hips. "You always say that."

"Perhaps. But what purpose is served by recreation? None. And what use is learning of one's own enemies? Much. So you see there is some wisdom in my…exercise."

"Oh, well, I bet you could beat up any bad guy for me…" Her fingers reached for him again.

"Ah, yes, indeed. I have studied the political and military figures of a dozen nations. Why, for instance, the Lord Godo, known mostly for his fixation with cats, having over three hundred of them, also has a thousand Wutain warriors stationed at—"

"Whatever!" The fingers recoiled, as did the blonde lieutenant. Escaping from another lecture, she happily re-joined her companions in their game. Smiling, Sephiroth reclined in his chair. Lifting his book, the general flipped until he reached his page and prepared to be immersed in military efficiency percentile and local terrain obstacles when yet another shadow obscured his sight.

Sephiroth flicked off his shades. "One more interruption, Kathleen, and I'll order you to cleaning duties—Dale?" 

First officer Dale McFerson stood, arms crossed, over Sephiroth. Climbing the ranks swiftly with his no-nonsense attitude, Dale was a natural selection for Sephiroth as the general assembled his senior officers. Many of the SOLDIERs attempted to bribe, threaten, or otherwise cajole Sephiroth in hopes of forcing his hand in promoting them.

Each effort was in vain; in fact, oftentimes it backfired. For each dishonest attempt, Sephiroth pushed that individual's profile down so far that oftentimes the SOLDIER started back at square one—or worse. Popularity, station, monetary value…all these meant nothing to a man who judged another on the wealth of his integrity, honesty, and hard work.

Consequently, few ever met the High Commander's standards. Dale was one of them.

"Report, Sub-commander."

If Dale was irked by his superior's curt manner he gave no sign. If anything, he seemed pleased by it. "Mechanical problems, Sir. Nothing to worry about. I have assigned the head engineer, Roderick, to fix it."

"If it's of no concern, why bring it up at all?"

Dale saluted smartly. "Sorry to interrupt you, sir. Just like to keep you informed."

The shades went back on. "Dismissed."

Not twenty minutes passed when another distraction cleaved the tranquility. When the PHS ringed it nearly caused Sephiroth to drop his book. A man of high stature, he was accustomed to carrying the communication device with him and having it ring at the most inopportune times. Such was the curse of that stature.

It was not often, however, that he received a call from the President. Sephiroth frowned at the distinctive ring tone and tapped the button to answer. A call from Russell Shin-ra spoke of ill omen. "General Sephiroth, here." No wasted words, no wasted time.

A nasally voice emanated from the receiver, that of the President's surly assistant. "The President needs to talk to you. Hold."

"Of course."

Without waiting for an acknowledgement, the assistant put him on hold to some pop music by singer Sally Sugar. Sephiroth groaned inwardly. The general had decent taste, at least he liked to think so, and that genre of music did not appeal to him. As if a confrontation with the President wasn't enough hell, they had to torture him a little before the final blow. Downing a second cocktail, Sephiroth chuckled darkly at his own twisted amusement. Like his compulsive organizational behaviour, the general couldn't guess where his unique brand of humour originated.

"He's on the line, Mr. President. Have a nice day."

A click, then…"Sephiroth, what in the hell do you think you're doing!"

Sephiroth inched the receiver from his ear. His green eyes narrowed. Certainly he'd anticipated Russell's displeasure but he'd not heard such fury in the President's voice since the word of his affairs were made public to everyone, including his wife. "I'm not sure I take your meaning, President. What—in the hell—have I done?"

"You've changed course! I gave no orders for that."

With his forefinger and a thumb, the general massaged his temple. "President, I haven't the faintest clue what you're talking about. We haven't changed course—at least, I haven't told anyone to do so."

"Then who!"

His afternoon effectively spoiled, Sephiroth abandoned his efforts to enjoy the peace and quiet. In a single swoop, the ebony trench coat fell around his shoulders. "Calm down, President. I'll meet with the captain immediately and discover why we are not headed to Costa Del Sol. It puzzles me that you—"

"Gongaga."

"What?…Gongaga? Why are we heading to Gongaga?"

"Code Blue. Top secret business. Executive Access only."

"Try again, President. That might work for flunkies like Palmer or Heidegger, but I'm not about to send my troops into hostile territory while on shore leave. You have no option but to spill. If you refuse, I'll have the Miranda dead in the water before you can smoke your next cigar."

A pause. Sephiroth smirked. Rare is it that the High Commander could one-up Russell Shin-ra. That insubordination would likely cost him another jaunt through the Gongaga Jungles. Still, the general despised the President. Bereft of morals or remorse, the President ruled his conquered countries with an iron fist. It was he that approved of Hojo's request to enlist him into SOLDIER. While, Sephiroth came to appreciate the skill and challenge of the military, he realized that he'd forever lost the normalcy a household could bring him.

"Sephiroth…the _Miranda_ is carrying explosives."

That one word shook the general to his core. Explosives…small wonder the President fretted so. A sombre, cynical shadow passed over Sephiroth's face as his eyes trailed from the beautiful women sunbathing, to the giggling children playing Materia Ball and lastly to his subordinates enjoying a game of cards.

Paradise floating on the vessel from the abyss.

"Explain."

"The ship is scheduled to meet with a military vessel at Gongaga. There, it can remove the explosives so they can be used against the town. Once the Miranda has unloaded she can continue her voyage to Costa Del Sol."

"And this is one convenient detail you failed to mention when you offered vacation time for the Senior Military Staff?"

"Don't be smart with me, Sephiroth. I have my reasons. Gongaga has been a thorn in my side for far too long." Silence, as the President smoked his cigar to judge by the sounds of his phlegm-filled cough. "You will ensure that the ship gets to Gongaga. If you fail to do so I'll send you back to Hojo's labs for a few…tests."

That made Sephiroth grimace. "You've a vile man, you know that—" A loud boom cut that sentence off, accompanied by a second. The _Miranda_ veered sharply causing the PHS to slip from the general's hand and over the side of the ship. For a moment it floated then vanished beneath the shining waters.

"That'll cost me," Sephiroth groaned as he pushed back his extensive silver hair. Lifting that hand to above his brow, the general peered across the deck. Plumes of smoke gushed from the stacks, burning his eyes. A number of the occupants glanced around nervously, while a few started to collect their personal effects. Some even started to shout, fearful. They conducted themselves like the masses normally do when confronted with loud noises and uncertain situations.

_Panic. I must control the crowds. Emergency, level four. Shin-ra Crisis Protocol. Assemble senior staff. Evacuate all non-military personnel. Determine source of explosion. Proceed with caution…_

Despite the gravity of the situation, Sephiroth slipped into his element with ease. Perhaps the absence of human cruelty and stupid red tape invigorated him or perhaps the fact that, here, now, the general had a hand in his destiny. Like it or not, Sephiroth was the one man anyone wanted on their side in the middle of a crisis.

"Lieutenants, Subcommander, over here," Sephiroth called over a shoulder as he sheathed Masamune. His mind warred over whether the blade was warranted, but the general often relied on instinct. It hadn't failed him yet—as evidenced by his continued existence. It would be unwise to ignore it now.

"Whoa, that's some fireworks!" Mike squealed as he, Lanine, Terry and Kathleen hurried to their leader's side. The red-haired lieutenant craned his head to view the sparks erupting from the lower decks.

Another crash sounded, spooking Lanine. She was hardly the only one. Like ripples through a stone-shattered pond, the sea of masses splintered, with several people fleeing and others screaming. SOLDIERs, Shin-ra executives and their families swarmed the deck, hurrying to the lifeboats and helicopters.

"That's not fireworks." Terrence glanced up as he holstered a mako gun. "Commander, we were unable to locate Dale. Shortly before the explosion he went below deck. Everyone else from the senior staff is accounted for."

Sephiroth nodded, pleased by Terry's attention to detail. "Is everyone all right?" A couple of grunts to that. "Good. We apparently have an emergency on our hands. We will follow standard emergency procedure." 

Sephiroth snapped his fingers at Terrence and Kathleen. "You two, gather as many passengers as you can and then proceed to Omega A1. Load those you've rescued onto Baron, then pull the helicopter to a safe distance and hold position." Then, with his other hand, he gestured to Lanine and Michael. "You two are with me. Arm yourselves. We don't know if this is an accident…or worse."

Glances all around, shared by his subordinates. Worrying his troops was unnecessary until deemed otherwise, but deceiving them into thinking that they were safe was foolish at best. They were SOLDIER's finest, and each of them had served him in various skirmishes with Wutai throughout the years. Lanine had her piloting skills. Michael was a knack at engineering. Terrence was an expert at combat tactics while Kathleen boasted an impressive score at the SOLDIER academy in firearms.

The last thought to test his waning patience. "I respectfully request to accompany you, Sir. If hijackers have indeed seized the ship, you'll need all the manpower you can muster." Her caramel-brown eyes glinted as she exhibited a pair of materia-loaded daggers and a pistol. "Plus, I know the _Miranda_ like an old lover."

"As you wish."

After Terrence left to herd the masses to safety, the High Commander gestured for the three to follow him across Tier Three. Not a particularly pleasant stroll. The four had to struggle against the current of terrorized citizens to at last reach the control room. Kathleen, Michael and Lanine waited further instruction from Sephiroth before proceeding into the room. Each sensed the ill ease of their Commander. His shadowed visage spoke volumes.

Once. Twice. Three times, Sephiroth knocked. No answer. Either the current occupants had been slain or otherwise incapacitated and unable to respond. Or, worse yet, the ones responsible for the chaos waited inside, preparing to strike… _Mind your imagination, Sephiroth. You are not the type for idle speculation. Fear no shadows. Enter._

He did so. The door yielded to a single swipe of Masamune, splintering in half. Mike kicked in the rest and the four walked in, eyes wide at the sight. Blood gleamed on the floor and counters. A computer piloted Miranda, but the designers had attached a traditional wood wheel for aesthetics. The captain was sprawled on it, his life-fluid dripping like the sands in an hourglass.

Kathy kept watch while Lanine searched for any survivors. Mike sought to restore the lighting, as most of the fluorescent bulbs lay in pieces in the crimson pools. As if some trepidation tickled at the back of his mind, Sephiroth passed by them all toward the computer controls. Terror climbed up his throat. Why the fear? He'd seen piles of bodies before; walked through rivers of blood…

Two words flashed on the screen. He couldn't make them out.

"Mike, shine the light over here."

Uncharacteristically wordless, the lieutenant tipped the dim bulb toward the screen. Still, it was enough. Kathleen and Lanine crowded closer to see what caused their general to gasp. Had they overheard the earlier conversation between him and the President they might have swooned, or at least cried out in anguish. Even for one as fearless as Sephiroth the blood froze in his veins at the sight.

_Destination: JUNON HARBOR_

Now, he knew. The plan of the would-be hijackers was quite simple. World famous for its Mako Canon, Sister Ray, Junon Harbor outshined every other port, city, and town for its army and artillery. Even the homeless in Midgar had heard of the Canon and the sheer power of her. With a single blast it could destroy a small city.  
Or, implode and destroy Junon Harbor itself.

Of course, nothing short of a massive ship could do that.

Nothing short of the _Miranda_.


	2. The Many for the Few

Jaw set, Sephiroth banished the fear from his mind. "We must find the hijackers and apprehend them. If they don't immediately surrender, kill them. No questions asked. We haven't the time. Understand?"

As one, they nodded. His step again swift, Sephiroth hurried down the stairs, vanishing beneath deck. He barely heard the footsteps of subordinates in his wake, his science-gifted senses all tuned, alert. A trail of blood glistened down the hallway, like breadcrumbs to a behemoth's mouth. When the last of his subordinates cleared the steps, Sephiroth wordlessly instructed for them to hug the wall.

For about a dozen yards, they continued that way, Sephiroth in the lead. The silence as they traveled grated on the general's nerves. Even if hijackers had slaughtered the entire crew and every passenger the sounds of the terrorists coming and going should have reached his ears by now. He knew the signs of an ambush. This instant displayed every evidence of one.

With a finger, he mentioned for them to ready their weapons and activate their materia. Then, they heard a footstep. Sephiroth frowned. His subordinates tensed. Only one set. Easy prey for anyone from the ranks of illustrious SOLDIER and certainly for the master materia-wielder, Sephiroth himself. His hand lowered to Masamune's hilt…

"Sephiroth?"

Sephiroth froze. He knew that voice.

A shadow separated from the perpetual darkness, forming a humanoid shape. "General, I knew that was you. It's good to see a friendly face."

Sephiroth expelled a sigh as Dale McFerson stepped into the unsteady light. The subcommander had not fared well, though, considering the condition of the captain, that was only a relative assessment. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead and another from a sword slash on his shoulder. Still, his gray eyes shined, sharp and angry.

"They caught me unaware, General. They've taken the ship." He wiped some greasy blood off his chin. "It's best if you escape while you can."

That caused the general to frown. Liking neither the order nor the manner in which it was delivered, he coldly replied, "Rest assured, Dale, I will—once all the passengers are freed or declared dead."

"We can't just leave them!" Lanine added, distraught. "There are children down here."

Mike flipped back his wild red hair. "Yes, that's not cool, man."

Kathy said nothing, eyeing the exchange intently.

"General," Dale said, his voice curt, "I must strongly advise—"

"And I must strongly ignore," Sephiroth snapped as he shoved his first officer aside. It was only after three steps did he feel a wetness on his cheek. He touched it and his fingers came away with red, sticky fluid. Blood. His head jerked up as his mouth dropped down, taking in the ghastly sight.

Roderick's body, nailed to the ceiling, headless.

"What the f—"

As swift as a whisper in a storm, those words vanished as a sword's hilt bashed into the general's skull. He stumbled to a knee. Brilliant starburst patterns danced in Sephiroth's sight, nauseating him. Acting on instinct, he lifted Masamune in an arch above his head. The vibration of contact shot rivulets down his shoulders then the pressure disappeared. Sephiroth knew if he could just his bearings the matter would be brought to a swift conclusion.

"Kathy!" Lanine's voice, horrified.

Lightly with a finger, Sephiroth tapped a green materia, restoring some of his health. Then the SOLDIER staggered to his feet, back braced against the wall for support. The sight that greeted his eyes was not a welcome one. Though the general was a walking one-man army, loaded with mastered materia and the strongest weapon on the Planet, this was one situation that he could not overcome. Not by conventional means, anyway.

Dale levelled a blade, presumably the one he'd struck Sephiroth with, at Kathleen's back. His eyes shined anew now—desperate, hateful, and murderous. Lanine and Michael hovered, the former readying a red materia orb while the latter gripped a Mako gun. Neither acted, however. It was up to their commander to solve this dilemma.

_Even though I'm the least equipped to handle diplomatic situations._

"I'm disappointed in you, Dale," Sephiroth said with an acerbic tone. "When I retired you would have made a fine general." No response. "I thought highly of you." That much was true. Was, anyway. "Why are you doing this? Of what benefit could it be to you?"

Sneering, Dale replied, "Does it matter? You'll have to do as I say now." For emphasis, he poked Kathy and she whimpered. Sephiroth frowned. That sound was…unnatural. "Lay down your weapons. All of you. Now."

Hesitating for a moment, Sephiroth then nodded slightly for his subordinates to submit. They dropped several materia orbs, two swords and as many guns. The general lowered his blade, his eyes never leaving Dale's. "It does matter. A great deal. I thought I could consider you a…friend."

Dale laughed, though the High Commander could hardly understand what was so funny. "Friend? I'm not your friend. I can't stand you. You're a freak. A monster. A killing machine of Shin-ra. All of SOLDIER, but _you_ most of all."

Each word fell upon Sephiroth's soul like poisoned daggers. Under a stony expression the general concealed his anger. It would do Kathy little good for him to vent at this moment. Rarely did the masses consider Sephiroth in a favourable light. The ignorance and intolerance threatened to shred his sanity.

Sephiroth contained it. He'd gotten pretty good at that by now.

"…and then we'll even the odds for North Corel. Ironic, isn't it? With one ship—Shin-ra's own, in fact—we'll deal a crippling blow to that damn company."

In an uncharacteristic action, words flooded from the general's mouth before he gave them due thought. "And what of the innocent people? Shopkeepers? Tourists? Children? What about them?"

Dale's face darkened. "The damage dealt Shin-ra will be worth it. The many for the few."

That twisted logic infuriated the general. As a man in a position of power he signed papers nearly every day that sent troops to battle and, often, to death. Yet something about that seemed saner, more human. At least those he charted off to war were always SOLDIERs or the like—men and women who joined the army knowing their lives might end that way. Killing kids as they played in the streets was not, in his eyes, equal.

The many…

Mako-green eyes glanced at Mike and Lanine…

…for the few…

That gaze shifted sharply to Kathy…

In a movement too swift for the naked eye, Sephiroth snatched up Masamune and lunged at Kathy. He caught her around the waist and used the momentum to spin both of them sideways, out of the path of the sword. Dale shrieked in rage, aiming for the general's heart. A hand shot up to halt its descent. Mike's. A second hand grabbed his other arm. Lanine's. Within a heartbeat the three were engaged in a fray.

As he attempted to disentangle himself from Kathy, the general muttered, "Lieutenant, are you—" Pain cut off his words, causing Sephiroth to gasp. "…hurt?" Blood trickled from a knife wound at his hip. Shock washed over the general's face as he stared, hurt in more ways than one, at his blonde-haired lieutenant.

"Oh, not badly," Kathleen purred, venom in her voice. She darted in with the knife, not to seriously harm him, more as a mockery. "But you look like you hurt real bad." She chuckled as his face radiated fury. Twice betrayed. The paranoid part of his brain started to spin tales that all his senior staff plotted against him.

 _Think, Sephiroth. If all my subordinates planned some insurrection, they'd likely not be fighting one another_. A sea of rage drowned Sephiroth's vision. His attack came fast and furious, disarming Kathy in a single swipe. She calmly drew a gun. In this chaotic frame of mind the general didn't register the significance of the weapon until he head a bang. In an uncharacteristic lack of grace, Sephiroth ducked.

"Dale, what have you done!" Lanine cried, terrified.

That was never a good thing to hear.

As Sephiroth spun around, his vision vanished beneath a torrent of green smoke. Instantly his mouth filled with the noxious fumes, prompting him to gag. Having spent half his life in a laboratory, the SOLDIER recognized the smoke. Refined mako gas. If kept immersed in it, they would perish within minutes.

Like he’d been felled by that bullet the general dropped to his knees. One of his hands covered his mouth with his trench coat while the other darted in the smog to ensnare Mike's leg. The lieutenant coughed vehemently, his customary cheery face replaced by fear. Without preamble, Sephiroth threw him to the floor then prostrated himself fully. Like all gases, this mako-fog would rise steadily leaving the floor a relatively safe place to inhale.

"What the hell! Who—"

"Stay down!" Sephiroth muttered. Though his science-gifted stamina could sustain more stress than the others it, too, would fail to prolonged exposure. "Lanine? Where?" he demanded, wasting not a single syllable. Who knew but that saved oxygen might mean his salvation. He'd rather err on the side of caution.

"They've taken her!" came Mike's disjointed wail. "I've got to go find her!" When he started to climb to his feet, his superior dragged him back down. "Ugh, what's that for?"

Sephiroth's eyes searched for an exit as he answered, "Gas. Stay down. An order." When the red-haired Wutain appeared set to continue his search for Lanine, Sephiroth said sharply, "Follow me. An order." Without waiting for a reply, the SOLDIER crawled on hands and knees to the nearest stairwell.

Upon reaching the steps, the general glanced around for his subordinate. Though Sephiroth retained every right to abandon Michael, he loathed losing yet another SOLDIER. The greenish-tinted fog obscured his sight but Sephiroth deciphered a humanoid shape approaching. Mike? Lanine? Kathy? Dale? Someone else, perhaps…?

Decisive, Sephiroth swung out with a hand, latching onto the person's arm. That person gave a startled yelp and resisted briefly. Then, the face peeked out of the noxious cloud, grinning in relief. "Ah, sir, thanks for waiting." Mike coughed violently, his eyes watering. "I can't find Lanine." Again, a cough. "Will we…return for her?'

"Yes, now up the stairs." Gasping, Michael ascended the steel steps. A scant second later, the lieutenant stood on deck, extending a hand to his superior. Sephiroth made a pass for the hand but stumbled back a few steps, light-headed. The gas was taking its toll. Snarling against that, and the pain in his side, Sephiroth thrust out his hand, caught hold of Mike's and heaved himself aboard deck.

Afternoon sun slashed into the materia warrior's eyes, nearly blinding him. He threw up his hands to block out the offending rays and to ward off the wind coming from above. Wind? Sephiroth glanced up. Shin-ra's finest military helicopter, Omega A1 hovered over the two SOLDIERs. A rope ladder dropped from it.

"General," Terry shouted to be heard amid the propellers. "The President wishes to speak to you."

Like a sea of melting stars, Sephiroth's hair billowed upwards. He could barely make himself heard. "Understood!" He turned to Michael. "Get on."

The Wutain glanced back at the hatch. "We _will_ come back for Lanine…right?"

"Rest assured, lieutenant, we will return. Now up!"

Mike's dark expression told the general that he didn't much appreciate that answer but did as bid. Shaking his head—certainly Michael had never been so difficult before—Sephiroth followed his subordinate. Possessing natural balance, he swept up the rungs swiftly. Fortunate, that. The general's mind was very much elsewhere.

Mike's assumption that he'd abandon Lanine to death, or worse, immensely disturbed the general. True, Sephiroth couldn't claim the most benevolent heart, but still he wasn't exactly a cold-hearted, cast-iron bastard either. He had every intention of rescuing his subordinate and restoring the ship.

…or did he?

As the two SOLDIERs climbed into the cockpit, Terrence examined them. "Where's Lanine and Kathy?" he asked in his customary placid voice.

Mike's face burned as crimson as his hair. "Why don't you ask Kathy that?"

"What does that mean?"

"She's taken Lanine hostage!"

"What?" It was the most animated Sephiroth had ever seen the lieutenant. Terrence rarely lifted his voice past a monotone, conversational level. The general's gaze shifted to Mike. He, too, was out of character. The Wutain appeared about to spontaneously combust, face twisted in fury.

No good could come of the spar so Sephiroth cut in. "Enough. Terrence, Kathleen is involved with the hijackers. I'm not sure to what extent, or what purpose, but the evidence of her treachery can be viewed by the blood on my clothes."

That stilled their voices. The lieutenants hurried to their commander's side. Despite being Shin-ra's best (and most expensive) helicopter, Omega A1 had little room in which to manoeuvre. Thus when Mike and Terry crowded around to assist, Sephiroth waved them off. He'd never been a patience man, less so when it concerned his health.

"My injuries are not serious. I announced them merely to make a point. We should not be wasting any materia energy. That will be needed for later."

 _Later? Am I seriously considering reboarding the Miranda?_ It was fool's errand and it plagued Sephiroth's objective mind. Reboarding the ship ran contrary to Shin-ra protocol, subsection thirty-two: Once escaping a hostile vessel, all SOLDIERs must refrain from returning to the ship until receiving orders issued by the Weapon's Department or the President to do so.

"Where to, Sir?" the pilot asked, biting his lip.

Both Terrence and Michael stared intently at the general.

"Hold position. Wait until I converse with the President."

Neither man seemed particularly pleased by that answer. Sephiroth understood their sentiments but his concerns were more pressing. It was becoming obvious that the hijackers intended to ram the _Miranda_ into Junon Harbor. He hit the CALL button on his PHS with a shaky finger. Shaky? Whatever for? He was the General, the Head of SOLDIER, one of the most powerful men on the Planet…

That all meant very little now. He could make no error. Sephiroth had dealt with death and destruction many times before but this was his first hijacking situation. The skill of your hand and the strength of your materia could not salvage this predicament. Life was so much easier on the battlefield. I, Sephiroth. You, dead. No dilemma, no doubt.

Still, he steadied his voice. Never before had Sephiroth exhibited fear openly and he wasn't about to break that habit. "General Sephiroth speaking. The President is expecting my call."

"Hold."

"Of course."

This time the hold was barely two minutes. The assistant returned to the line. "He's on the line, President. Have a good day."

A click, then…"Sephiroth, what the hell is going on? The Midgar Press has called my office fifteen times! What's happening over there?"

Sephiroth sighed. The Midgar Press annoyed him endlessly with their inconsiderate, single-minded mission to acquire ever-increasing ratings. They often fabricated stories, elaborated cases and generally made a nuisance of themselves. Sephiroth once had to defend his honor when the Midgar Press falsely claimed he'd raped a woman. The general had won, and was awarded a small sum of gil for his pains, but the smear to his name was never entirely erased.

"Damn the Midgar Press. This is Code Red, President. Hijacking. It appears that someone leaked to the hijackers that the _Miranda_ was carrying explosives." Sephiroth paused there, a prompt for the President to supply any information. He did not so the general continued. "The terrorists have commandeered the ship and have set her course to Junon Harbor. It is my belief that they intend to ram her into the Mako Cannon at the harbor."

Deathly silence followed. Keeping his eyes glued to the crisp, clear skies, Sephiroth ignored his subordinates pleading faces. The general was not a diplomat of any kind. This was up to the President to sort out and Sephiroth trusted him to assimilate the information and make an informed decision. But what decision would that be?

"Shoot her down, Sephiroth," came the cold reply.

The general's jaw dropped. "With all due respect President, there are a dozen or more passengers still trapped on the _Miranda_ , including members of SOLDIER's senior staff."

"That's an order. Contact _Baron_ and torpedo it now."


	3. The Few for the Many

The very idea of dropping a bomb on a ship with innocent passengers and his own comrades tore at Sephiroth's heart. He was a logical, rational man by nature, but the general felt his stomach churn at the thought of pushing the button (or even ordering it pushed). Yes, he gambled with utter disaster by delaying the bomb but doing so without even _considering_ a rescue mission…

That baffled Sephiroth. He couldn't accept it. All his life the general submitted to others’ will despite the consequences or lack of morality. Unlike most everyone else, his individuality was not encouraged. Hojo had, in fact, ordered the removal of several paintings in Sephiroth's quarters merely because they represented a facet of his personality.

_No, not again. This time I will do something of worth, do something of my own accord._

"Thank you, President." Sephiroth hung up. Then he slowly turned to face Michael and Terrence. Each word he spoke was punctuated by the chopping of the propellers, affording more weight to them. "I cannot order either of you to accept this mission: I intend to sneak back onto the _Miranda_ , disable the ship and rescue the passengers, crew and our people. If you refuse I will completely understand as this mission is likely suicide."

"Wild chocobos couldn't keep me away!" Mike shouted.

Terrence agreed, though a shade less excited. "I will follow you, Commander."

A rare smile spread across Sephiroth's lips. In an uncharacteristic gesture, he patted each lieutenant on the shoulder. Though the general never truly feared that he'd return to the _Miranda_ unaccompanied by either man, their enthused response heartened him. Fealty by fear was hardly an effective motivator—fealty by respect and common cause often proved so much more valuable.

Lowering a hand on the pilot's shoulder, Sephiroth whispered, "Take us down nice and easy. Drop the ladder down…there!" With his other hand, the general gestured to his untouched pallet. Only a few passengers roamed the upper deck, seeking a means of escape. Sephiroth quickly counted heads, storing the information for later recollection.

As Omega A1 hovered by _Miranda_ , Terry tossed out the rope ladder. Nary a hesitation, the dark-haired lieutenant descended, shadowed by Michael. After directing the pilot to pick-up any more stray passengers and deliver them to _Baron_ , Sephiroth followed suit, drawing the blueprints of the vessel in his mind. Like holding up a collapsing door, he struggled against the doubt plaguing his thoughts.

_I am disobeying a direct order from the President himself. I stand the risk of being court-martialed at best and publicity executed at worst. I gamble with not only my life but also that of my comrades. And for what: the possibility of salvaging a few? Why do I risk so much for so little?_

Once the three stood upon deck, Omega A1 flew off in search of survivors. Sephiroth opened his mouth to command them but his teeth jammed shut a moment later as the _Miranda_ shook violently. Screams rippled through the air, presumably of the still-fleeing passengers. Acting as independent entities, Sephiroth's hands darted out; one to grasp his red-haired subordinate, the other to lock onto the steel railing.

Mike swallowed. "I guess Dale's not familiar with the controls."

"So it would seem…" The High Commander's stern green eyes panned the area. "Where's Terrence?"

"What…? I don't know…"

"Terrence! Report! Where are you?"

A murmur, as if emanating from a tunnel. "Here, sir."

As if harmonized in theatre, both the commander and the lieutenant ducked their heads over the railing. Michael's eyes popped open wide and even Sephiroth hitched his breath. Hanging from the eaves of a porthole, Terrence dangled dangerously close to the waves. The fall might not kill him, but the hypothermia probably would.

"I…slipped, sir!"

"I can see that, lieutenant," snapped the general. "Hold still." Shoving back his sterling-colored hair, Sephiroth prostrated himself, extending a hand to his subordinate. In the background, his keen ears picked up sounds of shots ringing like lightning devastating an evening sky.

"They're shooting at us, Commander!" Mike shouted.

 _How in the depths of the Planet did he ever get promoted…I must review my staff more diligently next time._ "Then return fire, and give me some cover." Sweat dripped off Sephiroth's forehead as he stretched even further, now within inches of reaching Terrence. "Lieutenant, grab my hand and I'll pull you up."

His face ashen but his jaw set, Terry said, "No, sir, that poses too much of a risk to you."

The sweat was beginning to sting the High Commander's eyes, blurring his vision. "Damn you, Terrence, this is not open for negotiation—grab my hand now!"

After a slight hesitation, the dark-eyed lieutenant reached for Sephiroth. In a single try he succeeded and Sephiroth latched his other hand on Terry's. Then, he pulled, hard. Another man lacking his preternatural strength might have faltered, but fortunately for both, the commander had little difficulty bringing Terry aboard.

Not a moment too soon, either. The hijackers overwhelmed Michael, coming at them with mako-bejeweled blades. The first perished on Masamune's blade, and the second Sephiroth uppercutted, sending the unfortunate soul overboard eliciting a splash. Then with the same arm, Sephiroth elbowed another and he stumbled to the deck.

Ingeniously, Terrence threw Sephrioth's pallet up, shielding them from a few bullets. Mike downed one with his gun and Sephiroth dispatched several others with a wall of fire. Those that didn't die immediately fled, dodging the patches of flame that littered the upper deck. Then, the general kicked the pallet out of the way.

"Off the record, sir?" Terry asked as he gathered a handful of frightened crew.

The High Commander frowned but nodded.

When the lieutenant ensured that the last of them ascended the rope ladder to Omega A1, he brushed off a bit of lint and said, "That was the most foolish thing you've ever done. Saving me, I mean. That is rather unlike you, Commander."

"All of this is unlike me, Terrence. I've taken over a new leaf in life, couldn't you tell?"

"That's 'turned over a new leaf', Commander."

"Close enough. Now, locate the control room and have _Miranda_ stand down." Discarding his mischievous smile like a handkerchief lost in the wind, Terrence saluted smartly. Satisfied, Sephiroth turned his attention to his other lieutenant. "Michael, find Lanine and as many passengers and crew as you can…Both of you, report back to me in twenty minutes. Delay is death, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!" came their voices in harmony.

As soon as his subordinates vanished, Sephiroth lifestream-green eyes panned the area. No one. Safe…for now. The general cherished no illusions that that would remain, so he set to task. Cloak whipping out behind him like raven's wings, the High Commander swept down a steel ladder to the second deck. Most SOLDIERs' manuals advised against splitting up—taking the whole 'divide and conquer' in account—but time was of the essence and theirs was running out.

Through a dimly-lit chamber he hurried, ever wary of yet another ambush. Here and there broken pipes emitted smoke the color of chocobo's feathers, obscuring his sight. Three corridors later, he spied two 'Shin-ra guards'. Neither wore the standard blue helmets or their badges, though both donned Shin-ra outfits. For a moment their allegiance plagued him, but once whispered words of their joyous murdering of the Costa Del Sol band reached Sephiroth's ears his dilemma thankfully vanished.

Like death in the shadows he tiptoed to the men, slitting their throats. Their bodies hit the ground, making little sound. Sephiroth proceeded into the next chamber. No one. _Bizarre. Why guard a room with no one in it?_ As if compelled by a higher being, the silver-haired warrior glanced out of the porthole. His heart froze at the sight…

Junon Harbor. Drawing close…

The sounds of static drew the general's attention to a control panel on the left. Curiously, he peered at it. Then his hand darted out and tapped a button. The screen flickered to life, then died almost immediately after. Still, voices emerged through the speakers imbedded in the wall.

"Did you find any of them, Dale?"

Sephiroth withheld his breath.

"No…You?"

"Yes! One of the lieutenants, in fact!"

 _Damnation…I have erred. I should not have separated us. His death will be on my hands._ It certainly wouldn't be the first, the general noted, but despite how many times men perished under his command Sephiroth could never quite adjust himself to it. _Moaning over the past is wasting the future. Move forward._

"Congrats, my love! Now if only we can take down that freak, Sephiroth."

"Never fear, my dear. I shall take care of it."

"Be careful! He's very dangerous."

A sly smile crept into Sephiroth's lips. _That's an understatement._

"Don't worry, not much can survive three rounds of bullets…What do you plan to do with the prisoners?"

"Kill them…" Ice shot through Sephiroth's stomach, startling him with its intensity. "…Except for Lanine. I want to have a little…fun…with her first."

"Ah, you haven't forgotten about us, have you, Dale?"

"Never! I'm just having enjoying myself…We've moved to the engine room. Bring the prisoner down here and let's get ready to depart. _Miranda_ will hit the harbour in less than thirty minutes and we don't want to be around for the fireworks!"

_…Thirty minutes!_

"Consider it done, Commander!"

When all that resonated from the console's speakers was static, Sephiroth abandoned the room. As he traversed the many corridors, the dialogue he'd heard replayed in his head. So many lives risked. And for what? A failed chance at redemption for him? A failed chance to save the prisoners and all the populace of Junon Harbor?

That line of thought vanished as shots rang out and Sephiroth flattened against the wall. He could hear the footsteps of the approaching man. One. Two. Three. The general's eyes narrowed and his fingers tightened around Masamune's hilt. As the man turned the bend and lifted his gun, Sephiroth swung the blade upward, causing the bullet to ricochet off and penetrate a steel pipe overhead.

A single drop of mako liquid, smaller than a materia orb, dropped on the man's head. It burned right through his hair and skin. His shriek burst into the general's head like shattering glass. That stilled swiftly once the liquid disintegrated his entire body. For a moment, Sephiroth remained there, wide-eyed.

Then, with all haste afforded him, the commander retraced his steps. Little could stand up to the decimating force of steaming mako and certainly not his flesh. The instant he located a door, Sephiroth threw himself in, slamming the door immediately after. With a sharp breath, and he flicked over the latch.

One less path to the engine room. Others remained, though further along.

More time consumed. Time that could not be sacrificed.

With grace born of mako-infusions, the general slipped down ladder and leapt off the last dependable rung, which hung a few feet from the floor. Lights flickered in and out. Apparently, the lower decks had sustained damage from the explosions. Sephiroth sighed. He'd spent entirely too many years in darkness, developing an inherent abhorrence to it.

To dispel the darkness and his own discomfort, Sephiroth suspended Masamune and the five materia orbs on her hilt lit his way. Tiptoeing down the corridor, his ears prickled at the slightest sound. Considering the virtual anarchy above deck, here, the silence was almost absolute. Almost…

Then he heard the faint wail of a child.

 _Just one child, Sephiroth. How can that weigh against the count of hundreds, thousands even? My time is precious. Perhaps I can return, later. Perhaps if I come back this way the child will be…dead._ Sephiroth cursed his own indecision. To waste time even thinking about the boy was tantamount to danger, what with the urgency of his mission.

Yet, there the High Commander stood, eyes peering through the darkness to catch a glimpse of the boy. Part of him longed for the voice to remain silent, ending his dilemma. There! There it was again. No mistaking it. Then, breathing heavily, Sephiroth swept all his misgivings under the carpet of his mind as he swept down the corridor.

Scant a yard later, Sephiroth happened upon the boy and scooped him up and under his arm. The boy continued to howl but Sephiroth kept a tight grip on him. No telling what manner of mischief the boy could get into without supervision. If he opened the door to the contaminated regions of the vessel he might release the mako liquid throughout the lower decks, killing any and all escaping passengers, crew, or SOLDIERs.

Another thing to lock away in his head. Sephiroth cast his green-eyed gaze for the nearest hatch. If lady fortune shined upon him, he'd find someone to take the boy to safety so he could to halt the _Miranda_ from reaching Junon Harbor. Wishful thinking, the general knew, but subtract hope from dreams and what do you have left? Very little.

At that moment, the boy wiggled free, darting back down the corridor. Back toward the contaminated area. Sephiroth dove after him, shouting, "Damn you, boy, get back here! That's an order!" He didn't consider the futility of a command on a frightened child. Sephiroth knew of no other way to compel the boy to return.

He need not have bothered. In a bizarre turn of events, a bedraggled woman of perhaps thirty popped out of one of the many crew quarters. Once spotting the boy, she screamed and chased after him. Sephiroth paused to catch his breath, hands on knees, hair falling as a curtain of stardust over his face. Between the strands he witnessed a most awful sight.

The woman, boy in tow, laid her hands on the mako-contaminated door!

Like a bolt loosed from a crossbow, Sephiroth launched himself forward. His voice hoarse, he shouted, "No, damn you, don't open that door!"

Either failing to hear or failing to care, the woman pulled the steel door back. Like a wall of green flames the steaming mako splashed into the connecting corridor. Neither child nor mother had the chance to scream as the liquid seared their clothing and skin, rendering them unconscious in a minute, dead in two.

Emerald as the undulating mako now rapidly advancing, Sephiroth's eyes widened, horrified. He pivoted sharply, silver hair and trench coat whipping out behind him in a most dramatic flair. Summoning every ounce of strength, the general fled down the hallway, the waves so close, he felt flecks of it singe his clothes.

He turned a corner and the waves crashed straight ahead. That provided a slight window of opportunity for Sephiroth to glance around for an exit. Materia would not avail him now. Even if he'd been issued a Shield Materia, the general estimated that the magic would fade long before he could procure escape.

Relief flooded him as the general spotted the half-stairs. Gasping, he lunged for the last rung. Sephiroth had never favored 'a nick in time'. Thus, he found that the closeness with his latest brush with death, as evidenced by the fraying of his cape, a bit much for him. The heat nauseated him, nearly causing the materia warrior to swoon. With a military discipline, Sephiroth retained his balance.

A glance down proved the necessity of immediate departure. The level of mako liquid steadily rose, inching toward his position on the stairs and he guessed that mere minutes remained before he'd be immersed or pass out from the heat. Desperate, Sephiroth pounded on the hatch. No effect. A slash by Masamune did nothing either. The room swam before his tunnelling vision and Sephiroth fought the urge to close his eyes…

Then, the hatch opened of its own accord.

Sephiroth wasn't one for questioning luck. Bad luck? Too bad. Good luck? Even better! Delving deep into that nearly dry reservoir of strength, the general hurled himself through the hole and slammed the lid shut. For a moment he slumped on the ground, gulping down air and trying to clear his head. Then he glanced up at his saviour.

Kathleen. With a gun pointed at the dead center of his forehead.


	4. In the End

"Gentlemen," she said, smirking, to the two men behind her also carrying firearms. He might have survived a single shot, but three bullets would fell him like a bookcase. "General Sephiroth is our prisoner. Take him!"

"So…this is your thanks for my efforts to rescue you?" Sephiroth grunted as the two disarmed him. Due to the unwieldy nature of Masamune, the hijackers had some difficulty in carrying it. Sephiroth felt some small satisfaction in that. A part of him itched to grasp her hilt and ram her thin blade through their ribs, but the pragmatic part of him noted how foolish that endeavour would be.

Besides, why not allow them to lead him to their lair?

Her back hand caught him on the cheek, a delayed reaction to his acidic comment. It stung and the SOLDIER glared at her and she at him. "You're one to talk, General." Kathleen teased the title on her tongue as she teased his neck when her hand lowered. "How many have you killed to appease Shin-ra…or your own bloody desires?"

"I am a solider, Kathleen. I stab a man in the front—which is something you cannot claim yourself!"

A second slap. "Shut up." She drilled the gun into his temple. A test of his nerve. Not a particularly effective scare tactic. Sephiroth cared nothing for his life—why value something of no value? It was the knowledge that any whimsical action of his might spell death for others, others in his charge, that kept his tongue behind his teeth.

Kathleen's hand dropped to the small of his back as she directed him to go on ahead of her. As an automatic reaction, the general stiffened, his mind swirling with unpleasant memories of contact. "Don't try anything, Sephiroth," she whispered by his ear, her breath hot on his skin.

Failing to favour her with an answer, the general commenced his trek down to the ship's hold. Corridor after corridor, the four marched. As they came across some body-length containers, Sephiroth's brow furrowed. Though the general didn't frequent many establishments, the odd time he did rumour indicated that some wild experiments had been conducted by Shin-ra, usually some outlandish alien claims.

Not that Sephiroth believed them entirely, of course, but he conceded that every lie contained some truth to the matter.

As they at last happened upon the correct chamber, Kathleen threw open the door. The commander had to blink to dispel the flashes created by the bright light emanating from within. All through the short distance he'd marked up the ship's interior in the back of the mind. Should they manage to escape, they'd still need to disable _Miranda_ in time…

_How much time remained? How much?_

All his thoughts vanished as the SOLDIER stepped in, his eyes taking in the sight. Michael lay crumpled, face down, in a pool of his own blood. Dead? Probably. Dale mauled a half-lucid Lanine, who'd had her wrists manacled. Her clothes littered the floor, torn as to be no longer worn. Other bodies lay in the darkened corners.

This was not the glorious rescue mission he'd envisioned.

A shove from behind, likely Kathy, sent Sephiroth stumbling into the chamber. He righted himself gracefully, shooting daggers at her with his stare. That was paid no heed, as she instructed the two men to drop his sword. They did so swiftly, glad to be rid of its weight. Sephiroth's gaze drifted to her hilt, gleaming with several materia orbs.

Then those mako-green eyes flashed and his hand drifted to his belt, inching for the single untaken materia. Before the general could act, however, a prism of multi-colored light surrounded him and he recoiled from the heat. There was nowhere to recoil to and so Sephiroth bore the brunt of the searing pain.

"I told you not to try anything!" Kathleen stamped her foot, holding a materia orb. "Try that again and I'll make that pyramid so hot it'll burn the eyeballs right out of your head."

Growling, Sephiroth stood down.

Having noticed their arrival, Dale ceased his assault on Lanine to hover around Kathleen and her prisoner. They shared a quick kiss, then his former subordinate muttered, "You see, Sephiroth, good does win out in the end. All of your evil efforts are for naught— _Miranda_ will destroy Junon Harbour and, thanks to your assistance, kill Shin-ra's senior military staff."

Realizing the futility of negotiation, still Sephiroth attempted, favouring that over what he imagined was about to occur. "I told you before, Dale—committing an evil to smite another does not equal good….it only makes the original evil grow. How do you think Russell will react when he learns who did this? You condemn yourself and your loved ones to a fate far worse than that you seek to inflict on anyone. Evil is evil even if it disguised as good."

"I'm sure you'd think that," Dale sneered, flashing his half-missing teeth. "You'd say anything right about now. The great General Sephiroth, captured by a single woman and slain in a ship of his own people…Thank you for helping to fulfill my wildest dreams."

His hand slipped to his belt, caressing the green materia orb. Eyes of like color lifted to spy his beloved Masamune shining on the floor like a shaft of distilled starlight. Those eyes trailed to the two 'Shin-ra troopers', shifting to Kathleen, who currently flirted with them, then to Dale who resumed his groping the semi-consciousness Lanine. Then, to the porthole…

Junon Harbour…So near!

_Fate take me in your hands!_

Swiftly speaking and tapping, Sephiroth deactivated the shield. In a fell swoop, he seized Masamune and elbowed one of the guards. Then, he dove for Dale and Lanine, intent on severing the head off his traitorous former subordinate.

Something under his feet caused Sephiroth to stumble.

 _Bang_!

"No!"

His head hit the floor, momentarily disorienting him. The general's gaze landed on the implement of his falling—a tiny ring with TOUPH enscripted on it. In the corner of his vision, Michael rose and leapt at the nearest guard. Someone else rushed past, but Sephiroth ignored it for now, seeking to aid his heroic-foolish subordinate.

In swiftness no naked eye could view, Masamune cleaved straight though the other guard's skull, splattering his blood and brain matter on the general's fine clothing. Wiping his face, Sephiroth saw Michael strangling the other guard. The man gave a last pathetic gurgle, then his eyes rolled up in his head.

Like a razor on skin, Kathy's voice tore into the silence. "No, Dale! What have I done..? No, it…it wasn't me…It was…Sephiroth! How could you kill such a good man! You bastard, you'll die for this!"

_Bang!_

His hair swirling like a silver waterfall, Sephiroth spun around. He fully expected that when his eyes reached his stomach blood would be pouring out of hole lodged there by a bullet. Yet, when the general glanced down, he remained injured. His gaze flew up to see the swooning figure of Kathleen.

Shot. Dead.

A voice. "I…I loved her but—but I could not allow her to kill my commander."

"Terry!" Mike's shouted, as the dark-haired lieutenant emerged from a side door. His expression stony Terrence stepped over the bodies, including that of his professed love's, to reach his superior. "Commander, sometimes you have hard choices in life. That was mine and I made it."

The general laid a hand on his shoulder. "And you made the right one. I see a promotion in your future."

Shrugging away the comment as he shrugged Sephiroth's hand off his shoulder, Terrence stepped over to a console. The Commander walked to Michael, sweeping up his blade as he went. His fears for Michael's health were unfounded; the lieutenant squirmed to a sitting position. Raising a hand to forestall his superior's words, Mike asked for him to tend to Lanine.

"As you wish," Sephiroth said as he rose to cross the distance to his other lieutenant. He stooped to her prone form. In an uncharacteristic gentleness, the general brushed her cheek with his hand. Her eyelids fluttered and she gave a groan. Sephiroth could afford no more time in rousing her politely and so shook his subordinate hard.

"Wha…What…Sephiroth?" Lanine eyes focused and she smiled. "You came…for me."

"Of course. You are in my service. I am charged with the protection of my subordinates."

A chuckle issued from her bloodstained lips. "Oh, Sephiroth…You never change."

Before the commander could take her in his arms, Terrence hovered, an ill-favoured look on his face. Sephiroth nodded, indicating for his lieutenant to speak. "Commander, we must depart. Someone has tampered with the controls and the ship is on auto-destruct. I can't even steer her course away from the harbour. _Miranda_ must be shot down."

Lanine stirred. "What…what about…the other…passengers?"

 _Yes, Sephiroth, what about them? The many for the few? Or the few for the many?_ Could he gamble further with the lives of thousands in hope of salvaging a dozen? Had he truly believed that his 'heroic' jaunt on the doomed vessel would affect the outcome? Why…Why had he hoped when all that remained was despair?

"Commander, we have less than fifteen minutes!"

"…But the people…the children…"

In the false stillness of the moment, Sephiroth shut his eyes, blocking out their voices. He reached deep within himself for the answer. He'd often overheard people telling one another that delving within often lead to the solution…

An image of Junon Harbour, wreathed in flames, bodies in the streets, flashed in his mind's eye.

Then that image contorted to passengers roaming _Miranda_ 's decks just to hear the sound of torpedo.

In the wake of his internal torment, Sephiroth took refuge with the one thing emotions could not dispute with—logic. The numbers did not match up; a dozen did not equal thousands.

As if turning off a facet, the general shut off his guilt. Collecting Lanine in his arms, Sephiroth faced Terrence with steely eyes. "Lieutenant," Sephiroth extended a hand. "Your PHS."

As Terry sighed audibly and Lanine groaned, their superior activated the device, ignoring both. As it bleeped to life, Sephiroth tapped in _Baron_ 's code and spoke, "Captain, this is General Sephiroth. Code Platinum. A1B2C3D4E5. Torpedo _Miranda_ in five minutes. Do you copy?" Every humane cell in the general's body screamed at him to halt, but his voice remained firm.

Seconds passed, then…"Copy. Five minutes, shoot down Miranda. Over."

There. Just like that. He'd done it. Ordered the death of perhaps several dozen innocent people. Again, the general put his emotions on hold to tend the pressing crisis awaiting him. Stuffing the PHS in his pocket, Sephiroth snapped his gaze to Terrence, "Lieutenant, help Michael stand and follow me."

Immediately, Terry threw Mike's arm over his shoulder, acting as a crutch to lean on. Sephiroth lead the way out through the many corridors and antechambers. Given their numerous injuries, they moved far too slowly for Sephiroth's tastes. Irony played a large part in the general's life, and he enjoyed none of it. Appearing on the deck of _Miranda_ just as torpedo struck it wouldn't improve his temperament toward irony, especially.

 _If I just call the Baron to hold off a few more minutes…No!_ Sephiroth cursed his own empathy. _However am I going to be able to safeguard the harbour if I keep playing hero?_

Hero…What an amusing notion…

Though Sephiroth's photographic memory detailed the ship's interior, progress was slowed due to the contaminated areas. Fortunately, Terrence piped up with a short-cut. Considering the time remaining (or lack thereof), and how often he'd proved his worth, the commander grunted an assent.

As they neared a corner, the lights flickered out, quenching all sight.

"Up here, Commander."

Like fresh blood, light from a red material flashed in the chamber. It illuminated Terrence's face with a chilling effect. That did not hold Sephiroth's attention, though. The sight of a hatch did. The lieutenant rapped on the steel, and it popped open. More light, from the sunlight rushed down, eating up the darkness.

"Well done, Lieutenant. Proceed."

Assisting the hazy Michael up the rungs of the ladder, then Terry pulled himself up. His hands reached down to grasp Lanine's wrists as Sephiroth lifted her. Once that was completed, the general heaved a sigh and leapt up into the afternoon sunlight. He'd not a moment to lose, the commander knew and so instructed Terrence to summon the helicopter. As time expired, his fear of his foolishness intensified, but that was shortly dispelled the noise of chopping propellers.

A rope ladder dropped down.

Omega A1. To Sephiroth, despite the grime masking her Shin-ra logo, she was a beautiful sight. "Up, now!" he ordered. Again, Terrence assisted Mike up but the going was slow. Concerned for Lanine, who was slung over his shoulder, he dismissed normal protocol to wait until the rope ladder was free before ascending and grabbed the end. He barked up a command to the pilot to make haste. Propellers cut through the air viciously as Omega A1 swiftly swept up.

Not a moment too soon, either. A loud boom followed by shockwaves prompted Sephiroth to glance down. As in his mind's painting, _Miranda_ burned, smoke pillars reaching high into the sky. Though it would take several hours for the entire vessel to disappear under the waves, that same morbid mind had little problem imagining its descent. His gaze quickly shifted to Junon Harbour…untouched.

A sacrifice…was it worth it, though?

"We did it!" Mike shouted, gleeful. With his proclamation the silence shattered and the helicopter erupted into clapping and joyful cries. The rescued passengers patted each other on the back and embraced, weeping. Lanine sang, Mike cheered, the pilot bounced up and down in his seat and even Terrence managed a smile.

Everyone celebrated…save Sephiroth.

*

"Just one picture, Commander. For your fans."

Two mako-green eyes blazed.

"Another time, perhaps?" gulped the photographer. The stare Sephiroth set upon him could have melted the Nibel Mountains and he fingered his collar, stammered an apology and fled fast into the throng of people. The garishly-dressed guests shot him disapproving glances. They quickly turned away, however, as his gaze flashed on them.

The general weaved through the crowd. Every so often an inebriated woman would stumble into him and knock his wine onto his fine military outfit. Then, with slurred words, she'd invite him to a upstairs room in The Harbour Hotel. Though Sephiroth coldly shot them down, they kept coming, forcing the general to concoct some wild tale of how he'd already had 'entertainment' for the night.

Suddenly another woman appeared in his path and the commander raised a hand to shoo her aside when she spoke.

"Sephiroth?"

"Ms. McFerson?"

The elderly woman grasped the crimson sash across his chest, her eyes hopeful. "I've not had word about my son…please, tell me, what has become of him?"

With a sigh, the general fished out the ring inscribed with TOUPH out of his chest pocket, rattling the many jewels on his red-and-black coat. The instant her eyes dropped to the item, Ms. McFerson gasped, anguished. In spite of that, Sephiroth maintained a cold posture. "I'm sorry, madam, but your son is dead." _And good riddance._

Her words dropped as pins on his heart. "I made that for him when he was a lad—he carved the word in himself….he couldn't spell, you see."

Sephiroth stared blankly. Family bonding moments had meant nothing to one who didn't experience it. With a helpless shrug, the general opened his hand, offering her the ring but the woman wanted no part of it. Perhaps it remained too much of a reminder, but Ms. McFerson rushed into the crowd, bumping into several Shin-ra aristocrats along the way.

More damn irony…

"Sephiroth!"

Sighing a second time, Sephiroth pocketed the ring and then faced the voice's owner: President Russell Shin-ra. One of his arms slung around a woman's shoulder (not his wife's) while the other brought a cigarette to his lips. The smarmy sneer on his face boiled the blood in the general's veins.

"I bet you're thinking that I'm gonna bitch at you…but, I'm not!" If the President expected a thank-you he received none for Sephiroth remained silent, brooding. He continued anyway, "'Cause you did as you were told in the end." A plume of smoke climbed to the ceiling. Sephiroth coughed more to exhibit his annoyance than anything else.

"I guess there isn't much more fun than watching _Miranda_ blow sky-high, huh?"

Seeing _Miranda_ explode had been no fun, but seeing the President spin in the air and drop onto the marble floor was. After the initial shock, Sephiroth slammed his fit into the laughing face of Russell. Scarlet shrieked in a most undignified manner. As if frozen in time, the crowd of happy people halted, mouths agape, eyes wide.

Sephiroth flexed his wrist. "I can think of some things." Collecting his cape around his person, the commander turned on a heel toward the elevator. Behind him, the President fumed, but Sephiroth paid him no heed. Instead, he tapped the UP button on the elevator and leapt in the instant it opened, nearly bowling over a young couple getting out.

One.

Two.

Three.

Up and up the elevator flew, not fast enough for Sephiroth. His eyes shut, as if block the dreadful memory of _Miranda_ bursting apart and the imagined sounds of the dying. On cue they popped open as the doors themselves did. The commander crossed the distance to his room, slipped the keycard through reader and entered.

Considering his status, the room boosted a fine set of furniture and some of most beautiful tapestries. That made no impression at all upon the general. As his booted feet passed the lush violet carpet, his eyes stayed locked on a single feature—a curtain-less window. He breathed a moment, then glanced out.

Junon Harbour…Safe.

 _Miranda_ ….Sunk.

His long silver hair sweeping behind him, Sephiroth snatched a book from the many on his desk—the North Corel Disaster. Then he slumped into a tan-stripped chair. A finger flipped it open and the general leafed to the last page he'd read. Through the window's crack rose the noise of the party. As usual, he ignored it.

He remained that way until dawn.


End file.
